Heard

I am 37 days into my summer break. I am drastically under-achieving on personal projects around the house for that amount of time, but considering I am off work, I am greatly over-achieving on professional projects for school. When I’m not redesigning my lesson plan book for the fifth time, or researching a new curriculum that has been proposed, or putting together a “little something” gift box for the new teacher I am mentoring – or – when I am avoiding weeding the flower beds that just need weeding again (and again), or when I have mowed all of the pasture except where the lovely woodchuck and his lovely family have built a lovely abode with many, many, lovely (read that “big” and “deep”) entrances hidden in the tall grass that are just the right size for my mower wheel to get very, very stuck in – when I am not doing any of those things, I have been watching the TV show, “The Bear” on Hulu.

The show came highly recommended to me a couple of years ago and yet I was slow getting into it. The first couple episodes didn’t grab me and it wasn’t until someone else said it was worth sticking it out that I started over, got hooked, and never looked back. When it was announced that Season 4 was going to be released soon, I started back at the beginning and rewatched the first three seasons to be ready for the new one. Believe me, watching all those episodes again was truly a labor of love.

So today, after shopping online for tall yard markers that I could put in all the woodchuck’s lovely holes to maybe prevent a necessary tractor pull to get the mower unstuck during future mowings, and after reading more of a new book on fluency, I sat down to indulge in an episode or two of the new season.

If you haven’t watched the show, I can’t recommend it enough, especially if you have any spot in your heart for the city of Chicago or the restaurant business. But tonight I was struck by it in a way that I think everyone could relate to. In the proverbial nutshell, the show is about a man with a passion for creating meaningful experiences with food that drives him to re-envision a long-standing family business into a very high-end dining experience.

More than that, clearly, it is about the way the transformation of the restaurant is also a transformation of the people that work there. Which is exactly why it is a show that I am more than just mildly obsessed with. Character development and the complexities of the human condition are always of interest to me. It is, in no small measure, the reason I love books so much. (Oh! Imagine if “The Bear” was a book series!! But I digress…)

I didn’t like one particular character at all initially. We weren’t meant to, as the audience, but Richie has turned out to be a character that I now feel deeply moved by, as I experience each new episode. In the first season, he is understandably divorced, with a quick temper and an immature social view. He is stuck in the routine of a life he doesn’t like, but is so adverse to change that it hampers his own happiness. If you’ll forgive me for saying so on my “professional” blog, he’s an ass. He is arrogant but ignorant; he is crass and verbally abusive; he is shallow, and, perhaps most importantly, he is lost and doesn’t even know it.

I won’t give away the show if you haven’t seen it (definitely watch it!) but Richie undergoes one of the best written and best acted character arcs I have watched. And it was during the episode tonight that I took pause and viewed his transformation from a professional standpoint instead of exclusively a personal one.

Tonight, on the episode I watched, (Season 4, episode 2) Richie, the front-of-house manager, enthusiastically approaches one of the head chefs with a short motivational quote he has written for his staff. It is demonstrably apparent that he has labored over these words, and his energy suggests that he is proud and wants to share that. She responds, however, with a quizzical look and starts her response with “I wonder if…” and without fanfare suggests that perhaps his sentiment is too “lofty” for the intended audience. She goes on to suggest that he just simplify what he is trying to say. She doesn’t at all follow the teacher “criticism-sandwich-approach” of complimenting, whereby we provide a compliment, then a small, carefully worded suggestion before slathering more compliments on top. The chef just dives in, makes an unapologetic suggestion, and stands firm on it.

And here’s the part that got me: Richie immediately reacts in agreement, mentally kicking himself for the error. He doesn’t defend his word choice, he doesn’t nod politely and then leave without intention of changing it. He doesn’t go and complain to someone else about how she always cuts him down, or how she thinks she is better than everyone. He looked her in the eyes, listened to her response with his whole self, and owned it. He nods, in obvious appreciation and gratitude and then he says the two words I have come to love most on this show, “Heard, Chef.”

I paused the show. I sat there on the couch and stared at the frozen screen. Richie, the asshole from just a couple seasons ago, is in a suit and he has spent time perfecting words to motivate the people that work for him, in positive, uplifting ways. He took feedback (that wasn’t even overtly requested) in a rational, open-minded, gracious way. And in those amazing two words, “Heard, Chef,” he demonstrated that gratitude and respect back to his colleague. There is a high level of trust that they both want the best, and that is the only thing that matters. This level of trust not only fosters cooperation, it has created a community of people on the show, that all bring their unique talents together to achieve one common goal.

My question, my pause, is how do we foster this kind of mutual trust, support, cooperation, and gratitude for each other in the teaching profession? Or, to be brutally honest, my question is, what am I doing that is preventing or prohibiting this kind of teamwork with my colleagues?

I know administrators have tried and tried to almost push teamwork upon us, which even as I type and you read those words, we all know cooperation and collaboration won’t happen unless it is organic, but I appreciate their mindset. I can even reluctantly admit that I am fortunate to work for a district that has created weekly collaboration time. And yet… I don’t feel it. I don’t feel that cooperation is achieved during these times. I actually dread our weekly meetings. They are something to be endured, in my mind, not enjoyed, and I have never gone into one thinking I would emerge with meaningful suggestions that helped me grow professionally. That is just to say that if a colleague told me a lesson I had worked on was too “lofty” and that I should “simplify,” I wouldn’t react like Richie did. Not universally. There are only a couple colleagues that I would graciously hear meaningful suggestions from, especially unsolicited ones.

The transformation of “The Bear,” (the physical restaurant itself, and the personal changes in the staff) did not happen quickly, and it did not happen seamlessly. It was a mountainous struggle, with far more valleys than peaks. Each character had their own personal journey and battles to get to this high level of trust. The timelines were all different, the process was unique to each character, and the methods were as distinctive.

Administration can provide the time and the shared goal, but, first, we need to address our personal needs and obstacles and align our mindset with the common goal. Only then can we collaborate effectively to create something amazing.

To that end, I am declaring this year, “The Year of The Bear.” At least for me. My goal, my overarching professional goal, is to cooperatively identify a common ELA goal with my colleagues and then, to personally, wholeheartedly, buy in to that one goal so much that I cannot help but say, “Heard, Chef,” whenever someone helps me take steps forward toward that goal. The goal for us as teachers, it seems to me, is to create positive learning environments that not only foster a lifelong love of learning for every student in our care, but also helps these small humans grow into gracious, respectful and responsible citizens of this world.

And to that end, I say, “Heard, Chef.”